mesmer

repetition

of course

the trick to enjoyment...to learning...to connection with another is founded in repetition. just as mantra is repeated to induce depth in meditation...be it breath or sanskrit...

or as the sway of the pendulum drops you into hypnosis

or as the repetition of movements allows you to learn to write your name

or the drilling of dance steps makes you a better partner...lover...person...

repetition is the key.

of course.

repete repete repete

tonight i danced with a woman after calibrating.

which is to say...we practiced acro in such a simple and subtle way...eyes closed, small movements repeated over and over...we locked in and synched.

then we went to dance class...contact improv...and kept calibrating. slow, explorative, repetitious movement. it doesn't matter what you do...repeat it two or three times and it becomes a work of art. flutter your arms like a chicken, kick the wall...whatever.

repeat, and you have magic. repeat, and it becomes refined. repeat and you give your audience a pattern...and the brain loves a good pattern.

then...THEN...you can INTERRUPT the pattern.

ohhhh! what was THAT??? that, my friend, was a little surprise...and we LOOOOVE surprises, don't we? lull me into a trance with your wiley repetitions, then BOOM...BIRTHDAY CAKE.

wild woman

it's in your eyes...i smell it on your soul.
half-lidded hips twisted to stagger-stepped breakbeats and liquid rhythms.
lifetimes of full-mooned, muddy-toed, forest-frollicked witchery and wolf-running.
why try to hide what cannot be hidden?

Gullickson Birthday Blessing

Sweet sister, this night is yours.

Every day is yours, but this one...this is your evening.

Dance, play, laugh, love, sing and shout to the filling moon with all the beauty that you bring through to this world of waiting and willing participants in the play of your magic.

Dance.

Thank you for doing what you do. Thank you for your loving.

Thank you for living.

Here's to another year.

Cheers.

honeybadger love

your love is like sunshine through the early curtains, whispering promises of sweet breezed potential and warm coastal waters.

your love is like a soft fingertip on my heart, tickling forth sweet songs and heavy-lidded inspirations.

your love is like a sunflower seed...small, tricksy and tasty, but when planted in fertile soul-soil, erupting through the crust to beam radiantly back at the sun in spread-petaled glory.

i love you like the honeybadger don't give a shit.

12:28am

i am a fucking child

a puppy excited by the next shiny new idea

yesterday i was writing a bestselling book

the day before i was recording a hit album that would knock the socks off of any die-hard 70s southern music fan

half an hour ago i was creating a mastermind group to revolutionize small business

and right now i'm hittin' this town with a yoga workshop the likes of which they've never seen.

every concept, every little hint or glimmer of genius is met with fanfare and press releases

TELL THE WORLD!!! The Messiah has arrived AND HE LOOKS GOOD!!!

and yet here i am, on the second floor of an air-conditioned apartment that i don't have next month's rent for

sleeping in sheets given to me by my parents

i'm a fake, a phony, a fraud...a bird on a wire with his eyes on the shiny...

i'm full of fantastic words for my fellow man.

brimming with advice which i'll give you for a penny

because lord knows i could use the spare change

but i'm going to peru.

and i'm gonna stick this through. this yoga thing...man i've trained for this.

i've sweated for this...bled for this...carved chunks from my heart and imprinted my soul for this...i've earned this fucking success, and i'm going to stick it out and work the plan...then i'm going to launch that mastermind.

then i'm going to write that book.

then i'm going to record that album.

and i'll launch another training.

and i'll stick that one out too. and the one after that. and then the next.

this life may be built on relationships, but we mark time with accomplishments. we lose time with love, and we make it up with sweat and service.

through it all i give thanks to a god i'm not sure even exists.

from time to time i get glimpses of the divine...of something i can't explain...but man, i gotta tell ya...the stories they told me in sunday school just don't make a lick of sense.

of course, some of the most profound things i've ever experienced don't make a whole lotta sense...and man i've tried to make heads or tails of it all. i can explain some crazy ass paranormal phenomena, but my words are simply symbols pointing at a meaning i can't wrap my head around.
the finger at the moon...

and every time someone tries to tell me that jesus is the one and only it just pisses me off.

and every time someone tries to tell me that we should fight and die for religious ideas it just pisses me off.

and every time someone tries to tell me that christians are a bunch of pretentious, self-righteous assholes it just pisses me off...even when i agree with them.

maybe i'm just pissed off. maybe i'm just angry and confused and tired of trying to make sense of this world that hurts so fucking much...

and then i give up and look for something beautiful to look at and something seductive to touch and something yummy to put in my mouth.

and then i get on my bike or the mat and sweat it out.

and bliss on some indian words that i don't understand, and some chinese creative visualizations that some dude with a sweater tied around his shoulders told me would strengthen my energy and connect me to my life force...as if i was ever disconnected.

yeah, i'm pretty sure i'm still a pissed off bratty kid upset with the world and enamored by it all at the same time. trouble is, i'm 31 and i'm supposed to have something or other figured out by now. i'm supposed to be even tempered, rational and on top of my shit. a hundred years ago i would have probably had a family and a solid job by now.

oh, well. this is what exhaustion buys you.

good night.

For The Feminine

Let loose your hair in this lair of lost longing
Of desires so old the dust has taken hold and dank mold can't be banished by bleach
Only sheets and sheets of tears will tear down these walls of unmet needs
Only necessary evils are bred in this house of steeds
And pregnant mares and moose with fuzz on those antlers
Yes this is the answer to all your many questions
It's really so simple just breathe into this

Just breathe into this

The human race is racing toward the end and it's called Spiritual Existence
It's our nature to die and be reborn
It's our nature to drink deeply from the horn
The cornucopia of fruity flavors from the table of our banquet
From the victors of the vanquished
Squeeze the baby it goes "Squish"

And the rollin' tumble feelings fumbled heartbreaks still stumble
And still you feel all this
Still you fill your vessel with malcontent
Still you bring to my chambers your anger and frustration over unrequited love and lost affections
When the hand that dealt your demise was indeed your own
The stones you've thrown have come back to your throne
And your glass walls come crashing
And maybe that's what you asked for in the first place
Maybe that's what you wanted all along
You sang your siren's song of transformation
You called in a ranger to your manifest station
And when he set your house ablaze you raised the roof in celebration
Then blamed him.

And so it is.
Can you sit with this?

animal halo

i got nothin' to say on the states of affairs that move most men to tears and tearing down other men
i got nothin' to say about bright balmy days backed by boldfaced lies and nuclear sunrises
i got nothin' to spit about the clits of mad bitches who bring baldness to the bedroom because beauty ain't enough

but the full moon is risin' and the serpent inside is climbin' these stairs

see, simple silence arouses violence in bitemarks and bruises left in lust on a lover's shoulder

and moments of meditation bring clarity and penetration of the futball diamond maya of blood soaked poor designers

short years and long pauses pregnant with meaning and luscious possibility punctuate the perforations of my soul-searching neo-frontal cortex

and still you sit there, slack-jawed and yawnin' while i go on and on in loquacious masturbatory bliss.

let me make this simple. clear. pin-pointed.

i like loving you and i dig this existence.
you can tear it down, seek salvation through tribulation and rapture
long for better days or a lord to come and capture you
or burn it to the ground, wiping our kind from the face of this rock
and still i'll find a sweet spot and dance in it.
you can too. and you, and you...
and if we all did just that, if we went ahead and ate the fat and didn't feel guilty... just gluttonous for experience, then maybe, just maybe all this shit would go away.
but then we'd be left looking for contrast, the black to our white, the fertilizer for our roses...
so no, i don't want you to blot out my darkness,
to blow sunshine up my ass,
i just want to sit here and appreciate the soft, subtle lines of your muscles twitching under your skin, barely hidden by that silky shawl you donned while dancing in the burn-your-feet sweetsand of 10am.
i just want to smell the animal that comes through your pores when you forget or ignore to wear your bitter-blockers.
i'm just breathin' this in,
the grace AND the sin,
and givin' thanks that i've awakened
to feel pain again.
and when my number's up, i'll die,
grateful for all i've been given
in the short moments that i've lived.

i've got nothing to say...except, "PLAY."